The Actress
by Kuri333
Summary: Honey, you don't have a ton of offers piling under your name. I've seen you act, you're not terribly bad, but you need people to see that. You need to be known. You need to make some money so you'll stop serving coffee. And this is your chance, ok?


**Cross posted at MTT.**

**I don't own any characters or situations you might recognize and no profit is being made.**

* * *

"Do you like being a receptionist?"

"No," Pam replies, and stays silent. She is bored. She doesn't like this job.

The two people sitting in front of her wait but she doesn't elaborate. A very small part of her brain cries that no, this is not ok, she has to say something, she has to convince them that it has to be her, but then she remembers the little she knows and yeah, Pam has to be bored.

And then they laugh. The man nods at the woman and she gives an extra chuckle. Pam decides to stay in character and rolls her eyes.

"What would you like to be doing instead?"

"Honestly?" Pam raises her eyebrows, "just not doing this would be an improvement but…" she sighs, and drops the attitude for a moment, "I like to paint."

The woman nods, the man clears her throat.

When her agent calls some days later she can barely believe it. She landed the part. She landed the part! Finally! A long run gig!

"We need to set up a meeting with the producers because there is a great deal of things you need to talk about," the agent said.

"Sure thing," Pam says, steadying her voice after the impromptu celebratory dance on her tiny kitchen.

"I'll let you know."

* * *

"I don't think I'm following this. If this is a documentary, why do you need me?"

"Well," the assistant producer scratches his chin and looks at the ceiling. "The thing is, we've already met them. The people who work at that office…"

"Yeah?" she tries to encourage him to go on.

"They are just... boring, kinda. And according to focus groups, we need a little bit more. We need some story running through their everyday lives that'll keep the public interested. In short, we need a professional actor. And that's where you come in. We can't leave this to chance."

"So, this is not really a documentary." Pam wants to make it clear from the start.

"Is reality TV really real?" the assistant producer asks rhetorically. "I mean… remember that documentary they made in the 90s, about animals in the Arctic and how they hunt and…?" The assistant producer tells a long story about how documentary crew more often than not prompt their subjects into action and how it all makes for good TV, but Pam isn't really convinced.

"So, whenever things get too slow in that office, I'm supposed to 'prompt them'?" she draws quotation marks on the air.

"No, no, you'll just play the part of a receptionist. And you'll have a love interest. Everybody loves some romance."

"Roy," she didn't really like the actor when they auditioned together, but apparently the casting crew and the producers found something interesting about them.

"You'll hardly see him. He's supposed to be one of the warehouse guys."

"Has he agreed to that yet? I mean, I've agreed to work as a receptionist and pretend that is my job on a daily basis, which is going to be boring to no end, let me tell you, but are you telling me Roy is willing to do the same as a warehouse worker? Heavy lifting and all that?"

"He'll be a delivery guy, so he'll be out most of the time. And he said something about needing the working out. So, there you have it."

Pam sighs deeply.

"What if I land another role?"

"Hey! This is long term." The producer taps the papers with his index fingers emphatically. "Read that contract you've already signed. You can't land another role, not even in community theater, until this thing is done."

She wants to say no. She should say no. But there is rent to pay, and she always wanted a long-term job. A TV role. So, she'll have to work behind a desk and she hates it, but she'll get a salary for that, too.

"Got it," she finally nods and grabs her copy of the heavy contract. She is about to leave when the assistant speaks again.

"Truth to be told, Pam, I don't think this will really take off. We might not even get past the pilot. One season at most."

* * *

"This is fucking Truman show! Only backwards!" Pam yells, pacing up and down the office. Clare, her agent, takes a drag from her cigarette and says nothing. Pam is not one prone to hysterics but Clare's been on the business for the best part of forty years. She's seen it all.

"Honey, you don't have a ton of offers piling under your name. I've seen you act, you're not terribly bad," Pam smiles, because this is the most praise she knows she'll ever get from her agent, "but you need people to see that. You need to be known. You need to make some money so you'll stop serving coffee. And this is your chance, ok?"

"I know, I know, but… doesn't it feel weird to you?"

"There is always something weird in every part in the universe. This," she points at the contract. "Is decent money. No risks, not even a lot of difficulty. So you take this and try to enjoy it."

"You know I will take it, don't worry."

"Good, because I'm thinking I won't even try to find you any more auditions if you turn this one down."

Pam opens her eyes for a second but then she realizes Clare is bluffing. Pam is a fairly unknown actress, as the people from the casting agency stretched one time too many, and she's sure Clare has many bigger clients, but they like each other.

"Don't you feel is wrong, though?" Pam asks, in a much calmer tone, dropping on the chair in front of Clare's desk. "The fact that no one inside that office will know I'm an actor?"

Clare shrugs, and shuffles some papers on her table. Pam is always a little fascinated at the way ashes fly everywhere and she doesn't seem to care. "Think of it as improv. Or as one of those hidden camera things," the agent waves her hand.

"Yeah, but in those things they tell the victims afterwards. I won't."

"Pam," Clare looks up and the cigarette dangles precariously from her ringed fingers. "They won't be your victims. You won't be doing any harm. Besides, they will sign contracts that'll say they will be prompted only they'll never know it's you. So, what are you worrying about?"

The word ethics run inside Pam's brain, but it will sound so out of place in here she just tries to push it to the back.

Instead, she sighs. "Well, if those first four months as a receptionist don't kill me, I promise I'll do my best when the documentary crew arrive."

Clare smiles for a fraction of a second, takes a long drag from her cigarette and then turns her attention back to the papers on her table.

"See that you do."

* * *

Pam looks at her image. Pencil skirt. Baby blue shirt. The most boring shoes in the history of footwear. A grey cardigan.

She is comfortable, in terms of how well the clothes fit, but she hates to imagine herself wearing this kind of clothes every day. At least it's a little better than the green apron, she thinks with a roll of her eyes. The only thing that makes her smile is the hair. That was her idea. No fancy hairdos, just something quick and practical that will scream she doesn't really give a damn.

And now she just needs to be hired, for real. As a receptionist.


End file.
